


Heaven's Devil

by taichara



Category: Yoroiden Samurai Troopers | Ronin Warriors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 16:56:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14525109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: While trying to work the tangles out of his life choices, Touma gets a visitor with opinions on the subject.





	Heaven's Devil

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally written for the YST [30th Anniversary Fanzine Project](https://www.emily-wing.com/rwfanzine/), a free digital zine.

_One more and it's time to call it a day, I guess._

Stubborn Touma may have been, but he was running out of excuses to stay on the archery range and he knew it. The sun was slowly creeping towards the horizon, there were papers to work on, dinner to prep, more papers to work on, at least one library run to make -- the same routine, just a different day. Even changing into hakama and killing a few hours on the range was part of the routine at this point; a blessedly needed way to step away from everything for just a little while, but part of his routine nonetheless.

The chaos of fighting Arago and worse was in the past now. Life was predictable, if boring at times. But those papers weren't going to write themselves, so he needed to stop hiding on the range, pack up his kit and get ready to face to face the real world again.

_After_ one last shot.

_Okay, now, stop getting distracted and hit the damn target square --_

Banishing all intrusive thought, Touma lifted the great bow, set arrow to string, and fired. The snap of the bowstring against his wristguard echoed weirdly loudly in the same heartbeat the arrow struck home -- 

"I'm impressed, but it looks as if you're feeling off your usual record."

A low chuckle followed the rasp of an unexpected voice. _Very_ unexpected. Touma jerked the bow back to half-readied height and whirled to face his sudden visitor, who was already shaking his head ruefully, wickedly amused by Touma's surprise. Lowering the weapon with a snort, Touma spared a brief glance towards the setting sun before eyeing his 'guest' critically.

"Are you even trying to blend in? I mean, not to critique a dead man's fashion sense, but seriously."

Somehow, the devilish smile intensified.

"Am I dead? I don't think that's been conclusively proven, now has it."

"Alright, most people would be dead -- that doesn't matter, though. So what do I owe this visit to, Shuten? Here to confuse and probably horrify the eyes of anyone else sneaking in late practice?"

The sharp smile flickered; Shuten shrugged. To be fair, there on the archery range he very nearly passed for an overenthusiastic student of the art, or possibly a reenactor. The deerskin skirting over rusty hakama and steely kimono was a bit much, maybe, in Touma's not-so-private opinion, and probably the haori into the bargain. At least the colours worked better on actual clothing. But Shuten only smiled that maddening sharp-toothed smile, pulled the bow from Touma's hands -- well, he was certainly _solid_ enough, alive or no -- and shook his head.

"Not with archery, I'm not. Weren't you just thinking it was getting late just moments ago? The sun's dropped too low for a reasonable shot; neither of _us_ have much to worry about, I wouldn't doubt, but bystanders in the way of an arrow in the dark are a different matter.

"No, Hashiba, I have a different challenge for you this time."

Shuten shifted his stance as he spoke, and that's when Touma spotted them: a pair of matched blades sheathed properly through the obi, half-hidden by deerskin and cording. He quirked a brow disbelievingly.

"Swords? Are you serious? Do I look like a swordsman to you, man?"

Shuten rasped laughter right back in his face, eyes gleaming.

"And do you know how long it's been since I held a sword in my hands? Longer than you want to contemplate, unless it happens to be one of those moments you're fishing for historical scraps.

"I know you've picked up the basics from your friends over the years. Humour me tonight."

Well. He'd seen a hell of a lot of weird things in his life, and more than a few of them delivered by the same bastard currently staring at him challengingly, but this one was definitely new. Nonplussed, Touma scratched thoughtfully at his temple for a beat, then twitched his shoulders in a shrug.

"I guess? I mean, we're going to look like two idiots -- probably -- and I sure as hell hope the cameras aren't trained on us --"

" -- Don't worry about small things like modern 'security', Hashiba --"

Oh yeah, that was sure reassuring -- 

" -- But eh, why not. Maybe I'll make you have to show me _secret techniques_ afterwards or something. I mean, your style's bound to be long dead by now."

Shuten's wicked chuckling chased him all the way to the kendo dojo.

-*-

Getting ready to spar had been a whole other adventure -- what with being halfway across the field before Touma finally remembered to store the archery equipment first, not bring it with them, and then Shuten being less than impressed with modern day practice gear -- but ready they finally were. Now the two stood facing each other across the darkly polished floor of the dojo, ready to spring.

_For someone 'out of practice' he's not missing much, is he?_

It was interesting, is what it was. Shuten eyed him like a stalking cat, patiently, hand hovering over the 'sheathed' bokken -- he'd mercifully set aside the blades he'd sported -- and his breath slow and even. His stance was different from Seiji's and Touma couldn't decide how much of that was practice versus live blades and how much was the difference in their choice of live blades, or for that matter the evolution of kenjutsu versus kendo over the centuries, or ...

Wood cracked against flesh. Touma hissed, lunged away from the bruising strike at his shoulder and Shuten wheeled in a half-circle, bokken at the ready, preparing to strike a second time.

"Wake up, Hashiba, or the next is going to do more than bruise your pride and knock the daydreaming out of your wandering wits. Or are you getting _soft_ after all these months of pushing brushes across paper?"

Prodding, testing now -- bokken tip flickering, jabbing at Touma's torso, forcing him to block awkwardly, the impacts rattling up his arms, or else twist away with shimmering speed. So Shuten pressed even further.

"Why are you not even attempting to counter me? This should be basic sword drill. Where is the cocky young fool who should have planted an arrow of bloody blossoms in my eye that one day? Did you bury him?"

_Why -- That --_

A lance of stung pride, cold as starlight, jolted down Touma's spine and sliced through layers of ennui he didn't know were there. The next flurry of blows clashed against a swiftly readied blade and Shuten flashed a swift sharp smile, momentarily driven back by Touma's burst of activity before sinking into -- for the briefest of heartbeats -- a ready stance and springing again to pepper the hapless archer, jab-jab-sweep-jab-slice, while Touma whirled in place, the hems of his inky midnight hakama swirling with the speed of his counters.

"The hell do you think you're doing, Shuten -- "

A bark of laughter was the only response. And Shuten's bokken flickered with a hint of scarlet lightning. Touma's eyes narrowed.

"That's how it's going to be, is it? I'm not letting you play that game, damn it!"

"Then _do_ something about it, Hashiba!"

\-- And the crackling blade came whistling towards his head. Spitting a curse Touma wove sidewise, twisted like a weasel and, drawing himself upright again, slashed out horizontally to score a whistling hit across Shuten's shoulders before his opponent recovered from his overextension. With a hiss of surprise Shuten half-dropped to one knee, leaned perilously aside and snapped his arm back to foul Touma's bokken with his own, recovering the ground he'd lost.

The blade rose again. Shuten's eyes fairly glowed. And Touma suspected he was about to race from one end of the dojo to the other. 

Well then, bring it on.

"Maybe you _aren't_ dead, but why don't you prove it?"

-*-

... Okay, okay, I yield. I guess."

Hours later -- it had to be hours, right? -- Touma lowered his bokken's point and backed away slowly. Probably he should have bowed -- probably -- but if he tried he was sure he'd tip over and given Shuten was hardly in any position to critique protocol it didn't matter a damn anyway. Besides, he was bone-tired, soaked through with sweat, probably about to have every privilege over the training fields revoked, and he really didn't care at the moment.

He also felt the most _alive_ he had in months. Maybe it was just adrenaline; he didn't really care about that detail either. It just felt good and that was good enough; he wheezed something to that effect while catching his breath and was rewarded with a snort and a wry little smile.

"Do you? Good, because I for one have reached my limit for the night, I'd say. Hashiba you must be one of the most stubborn creatures I have ever met."

Tired, amused, smugly pleased; half a dozen different shadings coloured Shuten's remark and Touma lifted a brow in question, an echo of earlier skepticism. And, now that he considered it, Shuten really didn't look fresh as a daisy either.

_Guess I didn't do that bad, for an amateur._

"And I have a question for this stubborn creature."

One fearsome rusty brow was lifting in mirror of Touma's own expression; somehow Touma didn't snicker, just shrugged for Shuten to go ahead and ask. Which he promptly did, giving his counterpart a frankly assessing once-over.

"Obviously you're lacking in proper technique, which yes, you did remind me of, and despite that lack of experience you deflected or avoided a reasonable number of strikes once you finally started to move. But, tell me,"

\-- the brow crept higher, bristling -- 

"Why did you use the practice blade, and not your barrier."

Wait, what? Shuten expected him to do what? Was that what he meant? Touma gave up all pretense of seriousness, pointing an accusing finger and laughing raucously. Oh, that was a good one -- 

"Because what's the stupid point of you challenging me to use a bloody sword in the first place if I waved it around like a pointy stick and hid in a bubble, that's why! What kind of idiocy is that?"

"Good."

Touma blinked. Twice. Shuten shrugged, smiling that sharp smile again as he set his much-abused bokken -- now sporting a faint tracery of black here and there, a delicate webwork of scorch marks -- back in the weapons rack and retrieved his swords. Then he stalked over to Touma and squeezed his shoulder, giving him a sharp little shake.

"Get out of the rut you're in. I know you have better in you than mindless routine; I have the scars to prove it. Stop running from what happened and, curse it, think outside of the box more often without needing me or anyone else to push you to it."

A flash of sharp white teeth.

"You're supposed to be the wise one, aren't you? Start acting the part and stop dragging me out here. People are going to talk."

_That_ was the final blow. Touma dissolved into gales of laughter, tipping backwards until he backed up against the wall and just leaned into it, laughing until the tears came. Once or twice he wagged a finger at the amused Shuten, but nothing resembling coherent words escaped him until he'd near worn himself out the rest of the way. When he caught his breath and finished wiping away the laugh-tears Shuten was waiting with a bottle of water fetched from Touma's kitbag.

"Drink half of that and soak yourself with the rest."

Ahh, blessed water. Perking up now, Touma was still convinced that he felt more lively than he had in who knew how long -- and that was good and bad, at least as far as needling at Shuten was concerned. Gifting Shuten with a crooked smile of his own, tossing his own bokken from hand to hand idly and having hooked the empty bottle in the waist-ties of his hakama, he put on his brightest, most 'innocent' look.

"So you came all the here from wherever again just to tell me to pull my head out? Really? I think I might be flattered! So what am I supposed to call all this, then? Is it some kind of special lesson, oh venerable sensei?"

Shuten fetched him a clout in the bicep -- if a friendly one -- and moved off again to open the dojo doors and look outside. Night had long since fallen; the sky was a field of stars that earned itself a long, inscrutable stare before Shuten chuckled and looked back over his shoulder.

"My newer old vocation dies hard, perhaps. Or perhaps I just felt like it.

"Take care of yourself, Hashiba, whatever my reason is, and perhaps we'll have a proper duel another day."

Was that an invitation? It sure sounded like one. Surprised, Touma covered by turning to set his own bokken back on the rack before he tried to carry it away the way he had the archery gear.

"You know, Shuten, I think I actually wouldn't mind that next time ..."

... But when he straightened again, there was only himself, and the sea of stars.


End file.
